Bubble Boys

Well, it’s official. I have become an overprotective mother hen. Three of my favorite boys here are HIV positive, and I find myself following them around all the time saying things like, “It’s cold outside. Where are your patter-patters (flip-flops)? You need to be wearing a hat. Why are you coughing?”

I worry about them constantly, most recently evidenced by what I like to refer to as “the chicken pox incident”. All someone had to do was mention that a few of the children at school had chicken pox and the whole of Fairfield Children’s Homes was in a panic, convinced that the boys would catch it. With already-weakened immune systems, it is important that they stay clear of these kinds of outbreaks, so the staff decided to keep them home from school. Julia and I were happy to spend some quality time with the boys while the other children were at school. In fact, it was during this particular week that the miracle happened…

One of the boys had become very sick during the first part of November. I was very upset because it has been over two months since we began the process of starting him on ARV’s (AIDS medication) and the doctor in town still had not given us the pills. He was going downhill and hadn’t been able to go to school for about two weeks. Everyone was worried as we watched his body swell all over, his appetite disappear, and his cough increase. What worried me most was that my usually smiling, talkative little guy had decided to quit speaking completely. We couldn’t get him to say one word for over a week.

On Friday of that week, the staff gathered in his room to pray. He no longer wanted to get out of bed. That night I couldn’t sleep. I was so afraid that something would happen to him. Around three in the morning, I finally decided to call one of my friends, who fortunately challenged me to start reading 3-5 chapters of the Bible every day and see what God had to say about the whole matter. What I found when I blew off the dust from my book was this:

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid-John 14:27b.

I had been filled with those two things: worry and fear. Since it resonated so well, I decided to read on. In chapter 15, Jesus states that if we remain in him and his words, we can ask for whatever we wish and he will give it to us. I remember distinctly staring at the wall and saying in complete unbelief, “Fine then, heal this child.” I fell sound asleep for the first time in weeks, and woke an hour or so later to a knock at my door. Dragging myself out of bed, I opened the door to find my boy standing there. As I stared in disbelief, he gave me one of those smiles I know him best for, and stepped into my front room. “Can I have a drink? Will you cook me an egg? Can I have some peanut butter?” I had almost forgotten the sound of his voice. I ushered him inside, willing at that point to give him just about anything he asked for.

Over the next week, all of us at Fairfield watched amazed as he continued to improve until yesterday when his “mother” stood and said the words we had been waiting to hear. “Today I sent him to school.” God had heard us. God was faithful in answering us, and every day as our little boy shows up at my door, I am eternally grateful for the extra time God has given us to spend with him in good health.

This Thanksgiving, let this story be a reminder of God’s great love for His children. You are one of them, and the single most important command He gives us is to spread this love to others. John 14-15

Happy Thanksgiving! I am especially thankful to my friends and family members who are a constant reminder to me of God’s unfailing love.

Wenyu Munashe,
Janine

Psalm 23

I woke last night around 2AM with a melody running through my head that I couldn't quite identify. It was one of the Shona hymns the mothers sing sometimes for morning devotions, but I only new the first line. After about half an hour, I gave up trying to fall back asleep, switched on my light, and began searching my hymnbook for the song. I finally found the one-"Jehova Mufudzi Wangu" from Psalm 23: "The Lord is My Shepherd." I began singing the song quietly, and after a while there seemed to be something driving me to continue in my feeble attempt to memorize the long lists of syllables I could barely understand. When I finally drug myself out of bed at 6AM I was exhausted, but the song was now mine.

I arrived to pick up Mai Chimbo and Mai Mashiri at 7AM sharp, and miraculously for African time, they were ready to go a mere 45 minutes later. These two women have worked tirelessly as volunteers to make sure our resources go to the most needy orphans and caregivers on the farms nearby. We had sorted some used clothing given to us by the children's home and were now ready to start our round of visitation with a large box of the clothing and blankets in tow. We first drove to check on a mother who is now bedridden to make sure her three young children were being well cared for by her relatives. We next visited Peplow Farm about 30 minutes away. Anesu needed checked in on to make sure he had been to the hospital. He is 5 and being taken care of by his adolescent sister. Then there was Veronica who is now over 2 years old but hasn't had the strength in her legs to walk yet due to malnutrition. She has been receiving some nutritious porridge over the last few months and looked a lot healthier.

On our way back up the road, we needed to stop in and pay our respects to the aunt who had been taking care of a 2-year-old orphaned boy named Tadiwanashe. Church members came last Thursday night to pray that the Lord would either take him or heal him because he was suffering so much. Their prayers were answered as just a few hours later he passed away peacefully in the arms of his aunt.

The aunt and uncle asked us if we wanted to see his grave and said they had buried him in the green "suit" we had given to him (a little pair of pajamas). While we were waiting for someone to take us, the aunt offered us some homemade bread baked on a fire outside. Just to provide a little comic relief to those of you who aren't me, I watched as she took the knife she had been using outside to cut up a CHICKEN, dipped it briefly in cold water and proceeded to cut my helping of the bread. I also discovered she had a pretty serious chest cold as she coughed loudly into her hand and then picked up the bread and offered it to me with a big smile. What could I do? I prayed quickly for a stomach of iron and took a big bite.

A few minutes later, five of us were walking silently to the place where Tadiwa was buried a few days earlier. We stood solemnly side-by-side and were asked to sprinkle a small amount of dirt at the head of the grave. I later was told this act is usually reserved for family members, but the uncle said we had helped to take care of Tadiwa. As he said it, I felt the heavy weight of responsibility for the young child-was there more we could have done? I soon realized that it was God who had control, and it was not about anything we did or did not do. Before we said a final prayer for Tadiwa, one of the women began singing in the most beautiful, almost haunting voice. Where had I heard it before? It suddenly hit me. I smiled to myself as I joined in the singing "Jehova Mufudzi Wangu." It was the song the Lord had woken me up that morning to memorize so I could mourn with the others.

The Lord is our shepherd and at that moment I knew we did not need to fear or doubt anything in this valley of physical death that was surrounding us.

Benji and Chipo

Zvakaoma…life is hard.

This is an expression used often in Shona culture, usually meaning something similar to “give me a break.” But oftentimes the phrase is used literally as well. Today I understand a little more about the literal translation-life right now is hard in Zimbabwe.

We have been visiting two children that live right on the mission. Their mother passed away and their father, who used to work here, is now bedridden with AIDS. They all live in a small room that is filledwith the unpleasant small of sickness. I met Baba Benjamin (the father of Benjamin) for the first time last Thursday. He came shuffling out toward us with a glazed over look, swallowing hard and working to breath. I had no idea he was so sick, and suddenly realized that his two children, who are 11 and 8, have been the sole caregivers for their father. Many people have shunned him and are afraid to visit because of his disease. It sounds like harsh treatment, but when faced with it directly, your own mortality becomes very real. Even with the best education on how it can be transmitted, AIDS still causes great fear.

Baba’s situation has become worse and he was admitted into the hospital today. I decided that I should take a picture of the children with their father so they will be able to have a copy. Benjamin and Chipo came to my house about 5:30 just as it was beginning to get dark. Our electricity was out again so we trekked up the little hill toward the hospital as dusk surrounded us. As soon as we entered the main entrance, wailing and screaming filled our ears as a small, limp body was rushed past us and out the door. Benjamin and Chipo would have to wait outside while a mother mourned the loss of her baby son who had died just moments before.

We sat on the porch and watched as they carried the body up to the morgue. After awhile, the sounds from inside grew softer and we walked timidly back inside. In the growing darkness,we could barely make out Baba’s thin frame. He was attached to a drip and staring straight ahead. My friend Nyasha and I pushed the children forward and they greeted their father in Shona. Benji stood looking at his father and his voice cracked as he began to cry. Baba’s voice was barely audible as he answered back the greeting to his son. We took a picture of both the children with their father and asked him if there was anything special we could bring him tomorrow. He wants an apple and a fanta drink. Nyasha prayed for him and his mouthed breathed a silent “amen.”

As we walked back in what had become complete darkness, Nyasha could tell I was upset. She said tome, “Don’t worry. God has a purpose.” Tonight I cannot see the purpose. There are 1.8 million orphans already in Zimbabwe. There are about to be two more. Chipo and Benjamin are going home tonight to an empty house where there is hardly any food. Baba issuffering, and I feel helpless. Everything I can think to do seems trivial, like throwing a tiny pebble down a deep hole. But I can’t give up. I must continue to stare directly into the eyes of Jesus and keep moving forward…little by little each day…until someday He allows things to come into focus to see what He knew all along.

“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully,even as I am fully known. And now these three remain; faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I Corinthians 13: 12-13

God knows Baba fully, loves him fully, and is right beside him tonight. Please pray for an abundance of love to rise up and comfort the sick and dying here, as well as those who mourn for them. Pray for Baba Benjamin, his two children Benji and Chipo, and all the others like them tonight whose story will never be told…